Lost in Interpretation
by TheJesusFreak777
Summary: "Look, it's a win-win situation. You don't have to wait around for whatever prat it was that you were waiting on, and I can eat dinner with you." "Sounds more like a lose-lose." Lost in his own self-hatred, Draco realizes he's not the only one who feels alone sometimes.
1. Chapter 1

She was upset, that much was clear.

Draco wasn't heartless, however much people seemed to think, however much he led people to believe that he was. He liked to think that he had feelings and could sympathize with people, but really he wasn't sure if it was true. Sometimes Draco felt like an empty shell of a human, which sounded lame even to him.

But today she looked upset, and that made him feel bad, even if she was a Mudblood. It looked as if she had actually put consideration into her appearance for once: her hair was plaited, her lips were tinted. And she kept checking her worn leather watch, her fingers tapping nervously.

Madam Rosmerta stopped at her table. "What would you like, love?"

"Um…" Her cheeks turned red. "I'm waiting on someone, thanks."

Draco stared into his butterbeer, pretending as if he hadn't heard. If Blaise or Crabbe or Goyle had been around, he would have sneered. He didn't know why he didn't today. Maybe it was because she looked so pathetic that she was beyond ridicule. Maybe he was only human when he was away from them.

He shook his head. That was ridiculous. Were his emotions around his friends somehow less viable than when he was by himself?

She was upset, that was clear. Red splotches appeared on her face, and he saw her wipe a tear from her eyelashes. She sniffled. Hermione Granger was not someone who would be caught sniveling in public.

"Who are you waiting on?" Rosmerta asked quietly the second time she came around. Her voice was so low that Draco had to prick his ears to listen-he wasn't above eavesdropping. Rosmerta sounded pitying.

"A friend."

"Listen love, why don't I bring you some pumpkin juice while you wait? On the house."

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

"Cheer up, love."

She forced a smile. Draco cringed. Rosmerta sat a mug in front of her.

Hogsmeade was nearly empty today. Half the students in Hogwarts had spattergroit, it seemed. It was rumored that Madam Pomfrey had quarantined the third year Hufflepuff boys' dormitory, where the epidemic had begun. So Draco was in Hogsmeade by himself, trying to avoid the nasty illness, bored out of his mind since classes had been cancelled for professors to assist in the hospital wing.

He wondered who Granger was waiting on. Probably Weasley. He was a git and Draco hated him. He was irritating and dumb and a blood traitor, and worse still he had few redeeming qualities. And if he had just stood up Granger-a low blow, in Draco's book, to anyone-his opinion on the flame-haired prat sank even further. The entire family was made up of imbeciles, cowards, and pains in the arse.

Draco wished he had a girl he could go on a date with-a real date, not just shagging or pretending to like someone to get answers in Transfiguration. He had his own share of experience in both, but not much in dating, which was something purer and almost clandestine. He had, on more occasions than one, snuck into an unused and abandoned classroom with Pansy Parkinson or into the boat house by the lake with Hermani Rashan from Ravenclaw.

She wiped her eyes again, unaware that anyone was watching. Hell, she probably didn't even know Draco was there in the Three Broomsticks. She checked her watch again. He wondered how late Weasley-who he had, without confirmation, determined as the prat who hadn't shown-was. Ten minutes? Twenty?

Maybe he was sick. Maybe the entirety of Gryffindor Tower had been quarantined with spattergroit. Both scenarios were dubious at best, and Draco scolded himself for taking so much interest in the Mudblood's personal life. Surely it didn't matter. He could care less about her. That much he had made obvious throughout their school career.

Still, he felt a twinge of commiseration at her. Pity was not his natural response to anything. His emotions and replies had been honed to perfection in his sixteen years. He should have been indifferent, or repulsed. Not pitiful.

Madam Rosmerta came by again. "Would you like to order yet?" She sounded irritated now.

Granger bit her lip. She looked like she might burst into tears.

The next thing that happened surprised Draco more than anything else.

He stood up and pulled out the chair across from her. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized. "Spattergroit up at Hogwarts-you know how hard it is to get past Madam Pomfrey. Don't worry," he added to Rosmerta. "I don't have it. I'm immune-it's in my X chromosome."

Hermione gaped at him. Draco couldn't blame her. He wanted to gape at himself. He raised one eyebrow at her. He didn't miss the distrust and anger in her eyes. It wasn't unwarranted.

"What will you have, then?" Rosmerta asked.

"Shepherd's pie, please, and a butterbeer."

"And you, love?"

Hermione shook herself. "A butterbeer, thanks." She waited until Rosmerta was gone before facing Draco. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?" she hissed.

"What does it look like? I'm about to eat."

"I don't need your pity, Malfoy."

"I can tell," he answered coolly. "You have more than enough for yourself."

The air between them crackled with tension. "I'd appreciate if you left," she said frostily.

"I'm doing you a favor."

"No, you aren't. You're-you're humiliating me. You'll go and tell all of your friends how pathetic I am-how pathetic that Mudblood is." Her voice was hard.

"Who are you waiting on?"

"It's none of your business, Malfoy."

"What, you can't even call me by my first name?" he challenged.

"Why should I, when you call me Mudblood to my face?" she retorted. Her voice was rising, her face still red.

"I'm saving your arse here, you know."

"No, dammit, you aren't."

"Look," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "It's a win-win situation. You don't have to wait around for whatever prat it was that you were waiting on, and I can eat dinner with you."

"And that's a win-win?"

"Of course."

"It sounds more like a lose-lose," she snorted.

"Okay," he said, exasperated. "Have it your way. I was just trying to do you a favor. Hard to believe someone would want to go on a date with you in the first place."

Her eyes widened with hurt, but Draco found that he didn't care. He pushed his chair in and stood up, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck before he stepped out into the cold. He kicked a chunk of ice in anger. It skidded down the path and exploded in a cloud of white dust.

How could he have been so stupid?

It began to snow to the point where it was almost impossible to see the path in front of him, but frankly he didn't care if he got lost and ended up wandering the Forbidden Forest.

Bracingly he shook his head. He deserved it. She deserved it just as much. He couldn't even figure out why he'd thought he'd save her from the embarrassment of waiting for an hour for a date who wouldn't show.

"Malfoy!"

He could barely hear it over the wind, but still he turned around. A dark cloak came into vision, snow plastered to the fabric. When he caught sight of her face, he stiffened.

"The fuck are you doing?" he snapped.

She pushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes as she climbed the ridge to meet him. She didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Are you trying to be a bitch?" he asked. "Because it's wor-"

"You forgot your money at the table," she cut in. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few Sickles. "These are yours." She dropped them into his open hand, pulling back her own as quickly as she had offered it.

"Thanks," he muttered grudgingly, refusing to look at her.

"That was a really asshole thing to do," she said quietly. "You didn't-You didn't have to make it seem like a favor."

"Yeah, well. It was."

"It was a mean thing to do or a favor?"

"Both." But his tone wasn't as rude this time. He glanced at her. Her hands were clenched over the sleeves of her cloak. He wasn't even sure she had heard him,

"You just don't know how to be nice, do you?" she asked.

"I've never had much practice at it, no." Not when Lucius expected him to cut up like he had, to be just like he had been.

"You were on the right track, I suppose."

He gritted his teeth. "Listen, Mudblood, I don't care. And I'm not under any impression that you care if I'm nice, either. So just drop it."

"I was waiting for Ron," she said, as if she hadn't heard.

Draco didn't reply.

"I don't suppose he didn't forget." There was so much self-hatred in the sentence that Draco almost stopped walking. Didn't he feel the same way? Didn't he hate himself for being so sociopathic? Did she hate herself for being a Mudblood?

"I don't suppose he did."

They trudged through the storm. Hogwarts was still out of sight. They had maybe a mile left.

"Why were you so...evil to Fred and George at the match?"

Draco's mind flitted back to the match, just a few weeks ago, when he had provoked the Twins and Potter into fighting him. His lip curled but he didn't answer. They were blood traitors. She was a Mudblood. There was no way she understood the way his father baited and goaded him.

"Fred and George are better than you'll ever be." She didn't say it meanly. She said it like a fact, which he supposed it was. "I guess they're better than Ron, too."

"He stood you up. You don't have to give him the time of day. I may not be nice, but I know how to be a gentleman."

This time she glanced at him. They were walking in sync, close enough that her hand unintentionally brushed against his. It felt like an electric charge, as if he had just been hit by a Stunning Spell. If she felt the same way, she didn't show it. "A gentleman?" she scoffed. "You call that-that arrogant cockup at the Three Broomsticks-gentlemanly?"

"No," he admitted. "That wasn't my best work at all."

"I don't think you even know what being a gentleman means."

"Really?"

"I'm almost positive, actually."

"Then kiss me, if you're so sure," he challenged. He had no idea where this sudden boldness had come from. It was as if his amygdala had glitched, his emotions skewered.

"Kissing doesn't have anything to do with being a gentleman."

"You don't know that."

"I'm fairly certain I do."

"How many boys have you kissed then, Granger?"

"Two."

"See, that's not enough to know."

"I'm not kissing you," she answered, laughing.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one you're disgusting and a bully. Two, I just don't want to kiss you. That's an option."

"But you want to kiss Weasley?"

"That's different." She sounded guarded, almost hostile.

"Were you two on a date today?"

"Not a date. Just… Just lunch."

"Oh, my bad. Just lunch. So you don't want to kiss either of us. I see." It came out mocking.

They were close to the school now. Draco almost wished it was farther away. "So you're not going to let me redeem myself?" he asked. Their hands brushed again. This time, it wasn't accidental.

"Fine." She stopped and turned to look at him. "Fine, whatever."

Draco leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead for a long moment. What was the snow for, if not a hidden kiss? Then he stepped back and headed back up the path. "Thanks for bringing me my money, Granger. Hope you work it out with Weasley."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter for this and urged me to continue. I've been in a rut with my writing for the past few weeks/months and writing on this website is helping me hone my skills for my serious, original fiction. So thanks a ton, guys!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

He stepped away from her as soon as the kiss-if it could be called that-was over. He was, of course, very cold and soaked to the bone by the snow and bitter wind. Still, he felt almost guilty as he walked away from her, down the path and into Hogwarts. He didn't stop to wait for her. He definitely didn't look back at her, in spite of how much he wanted to. He was fairly certain that if his father could have seen him, he would have been disowned, hexed out of the family as a blood traitor.

The spattergroit epidemic had progressed: a Healer from St. Mungo's had been dispatched to assist Madam Pomfrey. Draco saw him in the hall talking in a low voice to Professor Snape, who looked unsurprisingly vexed. He caught sight of a first-year student panickedly talking to Flitwick, red sores on her face and collarbone. The entire school seemed to be engrossed in the matter.

Draco barely knew where he was going. He had just kissed Granger in front of what might as well have been the entire bloody school. He almost cursed aloud just thinking about it. What would his father do when he found out? And he would most certainly find out… With Umbridge as the High Inquisitor and Filch on her side, there was no way his act of rebellion would go unreported. How could he have been so stupid? Visions of his father hexing him or worse still, the tirade of hatred that would no doubt come.

He sat down in the Slytherin commons room, mulling over his inevitable annihilation. Blaise lounged in the chair to his left, absently practicing spells on a dormouse. "Where've you been all day?" he asked with only mild curiosity.

"Hogsmeade," Draco answered. "Got me mum her Christmas present."

"Git," Blaise snorted. "You getting anything for Pansy?"

"No."

"She seems to be under the impression that you are."

"She'd better be ready for a disappointment." He closed his eyes and leaned back. What would Blaise say if he told him? He almost opened his mouth and blurted out what had happened scarcely twenty minutes ago, but he stopped himself. Blaise would be disgusted. He'd throw a fit. There was no way Draco could tell anyone.

"I think she likes you, mate," Blaise went on.

"We're just shagging," he muttered back. "It's not like it means anything."

"That's not the impression I got."

Hot irritation swamped Draco; for a heartbeat he considered hexing him. "It's none of your business who I date," he said through gritted teeth.

"No one said anything about dating," Blaise replied calmly. He held the dormouse in his hand. "You been practicing much?" he asked.

Draco knew without elaboration what Blaise was referring too. For the first time that evening, his mind was taken off the events that happened earlier outside on the way back from Hogsmeade. "A bit, yeah."

"What's the easiest thing you've found to do it on? I tried doing it on a salamander, but it died."

"Mice are closer to humans than a salamander," Draco conceded. "Their vertebrate are stronger. They can withstand it better. I've been using them for about a month now."

"I'd do it on this dormouse, but I'm using it for Transfiguration." Blaise held the creature by the tail over the edge of the chair. It curled up, suspended several feet in the air, squeaking in more of annoyance than fear. "You think McGonagall would even notice if I practiced on it?"

"For sure. She has eyes like a hawk."

"Today's your lucky day, bastard," Blaise told the mouse, setting it in a cardboard box at his feet and shutting it.

Dinner that night was an odd affair. From where he sat beside Blaise and across from Crabbe and Goyle, he could see Ron Weasley talking animatedly to Potter. Across the table sat Granger, who remained silent.

 _Bastard stood her up for dinner._

Why did he care?

She glanced up. Someone had asked her a question. She said a few words before falling silent. It was unlikely that she would tell anyone, because all of her friends hated him as much as he hated them.

Her gaze turned to Draco, but almost immediately shifted. He averted his own eyes to his food.

"Are you going to eat any of that?" Crabbe asked, stabbing his fork in the direction of his black pudding.

"No."

"Can I have it?"

Draco pushed his plate in his direction. His father would have disapproved of even this if he had seen it. _You don't help out anyone. You hear me? Are you even listening to me right now?_ A conversation replayed in his mind of when he was twelve and he had bought a scone for a homeless boy in Diagon Alley.

"You okay, Draco?" Daphne asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he snapped.

She didn't answer. Nervously he wondered if she had seen him make eye contact with Granger. Had she seen them earlier?

How could he have been so stupid?

"When do classes start again?" Blaise asked.

"No idea," Daphne answered. "Maybe next week. They've already cancelled for the remainder of this one."

"Lovely."

Draco wished they would shut up so he could think. Wiping his face with a napkin, he glanced one last time towards Gryffindor table. Granger was occupied with a book in her hands. Ron Weasley was still miming Quidditch catches to Harry. Abruptly Draco pushed away from the table and stood.

"Where are you going?" Goyle called. But he paid no attention to him as he strode out of the Great Hall.

What would he tell his father when he found out? That it was just-just a phase? Would he just sit and take it while his father hexed him? Or would he stand up against him for once? Draco could picture it: _Yeah, I kissed her. Fuck off._ And then his father would call him a blood traitor, a whore, condemn him, curse him… And then what? Draco had the world to his name, but without it he would be as bad off as Granger: with no hierarchy of power, no money, no friends…

It wasn't as if the kiss had meant anything. Hell, Draco hated her. She was foul and had distractingly large teeth. Not to mention that she was a Mudblood. The only reason he'd helped her out at the Three Broomsticks was out of pity.

More than anything, he hated that he hadn't thought any of it through. What had he thought kissing Granger would do? Prove he wasn't a complete bastard?

At that moment, the door swung open and Slytherin students began filtering in. Draco sighed. "Why'd you leave earlier?" Blaise asked.

"I needed to clear my head," he answered.

"Want to go practice?" Blaise jerked his head in the direction to the dormitories. "I bought a few mice off of a seventh year. That room on the fifth floor is probably open, and Umbridge won't question us. She's too busy with Pomfrey."

Practicing was the last thing Draco wanted to do, but he suppressed a sigh and nodded. Blaise led him and several others to an unused, dusty classroom on the fifth floor, a box of mice tucked under one arm.

" _Alohomora_ ," Draco muttered, his wand aimed at the keyhole. The doorknob jiggled open. Once inside he was met by the musty smell of mildewing paper. Dust had settled on every surface and the windows were coated in a thin layer of grime. Empty desks sat in haphazard rows and broken chairs were heaped in one corner.

"This is a perfect place to practice," Daphne remarked. She reached into the box, grabbing a small white mouse by the tail and sat it down on a desk. "What's the wand movement again?"

"It's a jab, isn't it? A sort of jab?" Pansy asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Git. Just point."

Daphne took a deep breath. "I suppose I should start, then?" Shakily she raised her wand and tipped it at the mouse. " _Crucio_." A weak jet of red light protruded and struck the mouse. It convulsed, squealing, for a heartbeat before running unsteadily to the edge of the desk. Daphne snatched it up, blushing. "That was bad, I cocked it up," she muttered.

"Yeah, you did," Blaise coolly agreed.

Flustered and cheeks burning, she glared at him. "Let's see you do better," she challenged.

Undaunted, Blaise took aim at the mouse. " _Crucio_!" His curse was stronger than Daphne's. The mouse's legs drew up against it and its eyes bulged painfully for one, two, three, four, five agonizing seconds. The creature emitted a sound that made Draco flinch. Blaise stepped back, the satisfied smirk of a psychopath on his face. "How was that, Greengrass?"

Daphne scowled. Pansy leaned forward, as if nothing held as much of her interest in the world as the harrowing show Blaise had just put on. "How did you do that?" she asked, her enthusiasm palpable. It made Draco want to vomit.

"A good wizard tells no secrets," Blaise answered contemptuously. It was enough to make Draco bite back a retort. He was sick of this.

"What are we practicing the Cruiciatus Curse for? Surely the Killing Curse would be more beneficial to know," Pansy said, giving a pointed look in Draco's direction, as if it were his fault she was there in the first place.

"God Pansy, you're so fucking stupid," Blaise cuttingly riposted. He sighed and rolled his eyes as if being in her presence somehow made him dumber and uglier.

"The Killing Curse is would be more useful in combat, in-in war." Her eagerness was sickening. The word sent a shiver down Draco's spine. War. War against who? Against Mudbloods and blood-traitors and...and where would Draco be? Would he be a blood-traitor for kissing Granger? His father would no doubt stand on one side of the battlefield, clutching his words to the Ministry in one hand and a chest of gold Galleons in the other.

""We're not in war, dumbass," Daphne said. "And who's to say we ever will be, or what side we'll fight on?"

"We'll stand with our fathers," Pansy said hotly.

"You can go fight a war, if you want," Blaise cut in. "Leave me out of it."

"We're not going to fight. There's not going to be a war." Draco spoke up for the first time. It was as if he had been jolted with electricity. He hated that his voice stumbled. Still, his skin crawled at the memory of what he had seen just in August: the Dark Lord, in his mansion's library, his eyes red slits of genius hatred. He remembered him talking of how the Mudbloods and blood-traitors would be eradicated, how his eyes had gleamed when he described his new kingdom, where his father would be the deputy in command. Worst of all, Draco remembered telling his father he was uncertain of his part in the scheme of it all.

" _Father, I-I don't know_ _._ " And he had stammered then, just like he had stammered through the entire fucking year.

 _"It's all for you, Draco. All of it, every last thing I've done and ever will-it's for you."_ As if the way he cheated and lied were messianic.

"You're sure about that?" Pansy asked dubiously.

Draco didn't reply. _Something_ would happen, but that fact made him none the wiser as to what, and he could hardly tell them about how he had a viable testimony that the Dark Lord had returned.

"He doesn't know," Blaise said dismissively.

They kept practicing their curses. Draco looked on from a corner, never speaking and trying hard not to pay too close to attention, which proved more and more difficult as the mouse's cries grew louder.

He didn't know why he had kissed Granger. She wasn't half bad. She was friendly enough, and snide, and he felt bad that she had to put up with Weasley. But that didn't make it any less stupid.

After maybe half an hour his companions decided they'd had enough of torturing the mice. "You coming?" Daphne asked. She Wordlessly he followed. He slept fitfully that night, unable to stop thinking.

The next morning at breakfast he sat tense. If something was going to happen about yesterday, it would be today. He prayed that no one had seen it, that everyone had been caught up in the spattergroit situation to pay any attention. He caught Granger's gaze briefly and unintentionally before she turned back to her conversation with Weasley and Potter.

"Fy'll to thooking hat er?" Goyle asked around his food. Blaise shot him a disgusted look.

"Speak English, please," Draco said, dragging his gaze from the Gryffindor table to look at Goyle.

"Why're you looking at her?" he asked, swallowing before taking a gulp of milk.

"Who?"

"Buckteeth."

"I'm not looking at her. I'm looking at you."

"Bloody hell, you might as well be ogling her," Goyle snorted. Blaise snickered and Daphne looked up with mild curiosity.

"I'm not _ogling_ her," he said defensively, his ears growing hot.

"Oh, you might as well," Pansy teased. "It's not like anyone else ever will." Immediately he thought of her tear-streaked face when she had sat in solitude at the Three Broomsticks. He laughed uneasily. Pansy clearly took it as amusement.

"Filthy Mudblood," Blaise said contemptuously. Draco opened his mouth to reply but no words came out. He nodded vigorously, shame pricking him from his head to his toes. None of this was right.

"So what's in the agenda today?" Crabbe asked, smearing butter over a roll.

"We're going down to the lake," Daphne said, gesturing to Blaise. Draco had seen that coming from a mile away. Daphne was the definition of Pureblood good looks and attitude, and although Blaise offered little more than scorn to anyone, he had never flatly condemned her.

"Thought we'd go to Hogsmeade," Goyle interjected, speaking for himself and Crabbe. "We still have holiday shopping."

"Shit, I forgot about that," Pansy muttered.

"I'll just stay up here," Draco said quietly. "It's too cold outside."

They parted ways after breakfast. Draco slipped into the library, avoiding Madam Pince's heavy glare as he aimlessly weaved through the bookcases. He pulled one volume down and all of the others tumbled down with a clunk like dominoes. He glanced around to make sure no one else had seen the blunder and continued.

He made his way to the literature section, where he recognized the thin green spine of _The Moondew Chronicles_. His mother had read it to him as a child on stormy summer nights, when the thunder would scare him awake and the flashes of lightning would illuminate the pages for her to read off of. He would fall asleep to her calm voice and relentless rain. Instinctively he reached for it, but before he could another hand had grabbed it.

Draco scowled, annoyed. "That's my book," he snapped, reaching back for it and wrenching it out of the thief's hand.

"It's _mine,"_ the person snapped back. Her voice jolted him and his eyes shot up from the book immediately.

"Oh, shit," he groaned. Of course it was his bloody luck to run into Granger.

"Keep your voice down," she whisper-snapped. "Pince will throw us out."

"It's _my_ book," he hissed.

" _I_ grabbed it first," she shot back, yanking it out of his hands.

"I saw it first!" He made a grab for it, but she held it behind her where he couldn't reach.

"Quit being a tosser!" she snapped, her voice rising. Frantically Draco pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for her to be quiet as Madam Pince walked through the aisle. With what appeared to be an enormous amount of effort, she lowered her voice. "It's not a big deal!"

"It is to me."

She sat down. "Well, you're not getting it."

"You're not-You're not even a witch," he snapped, inwardly screaming at himself for his stammer, like cerebral thunder. There was no way he could explain why he wanted to read it so badly without coming across like a blubbering idiot.

"Fuck you," she said.

"What?" He almost laughed. He'd never heard Granger say anything remotely of the sort. It must have shown on his face, because she shot him a dirty look.

"I want to know more about wizarding history."

"So? Pay attention in Binn's."

"But _culture_ ," she answered, exasperated.

"I don't think you understand," he said. He leaned against the shelf and looked down at her. "I need that book. Like you need oxygen or water."

"That urgent, is it?" she asked dryly.

He rolled his eyes. "Give it to me, please. You can check it out when I return it."

"We can make a compromise," she suggested.

"And what would that be?"

"We can read it, right now. It's short. Won't take any more than two hours at the most."

He hesitated. And what would his father say? It took Draco several seconds to realize that he didn't care. "Fine," he sighed. He sat down across from her and leaned against a shelf.

"Don't do that," she said. "You might knock books off."

He made a face and she scowled back, but this time she didn't say anything more. "Want me to read, or you?"

"You can."

She cleared her throat. "Okay. 'Caddeus was lost. Despite his uncanny ability and trusted compass, he was completely and utterly lost.' Merlin, this is already happy-"

"Granger, just read."

"'Gracie, his companion, stood stoic beside him, ears twitching and tail wagging. She was just as lost as Caddeus, although she was happily unaware. With night falling Caddeus grew more and more worried of where they would go: they could not go forward in darkness, with the possibility of wandering off a precipice or falling in a ravine; they certainly couldn't go back and risk facing the Egols again. They would have to find a place to sleep until dawn broke, Caddeus decided, patting Gracie on the head and feeding her a treat from his knapsack. With his wand he illuminated their dim surroundings…"

Draco knew every word of the book by heart. Not that it was on the tip of his tongue ready to recite, but every syllable was familiar to his ears. She spoke quietly so not to rouse Pince's notice. He closed his eyes and listened. All the stress he'd felt since he'd first seen the Dark Lord sitting in his living room, since he had kissed Granger, was gone for the brief time they sat in the library.

He studied her face as she read. She was no longer upset like she had been. The corners of her mouth held the faintest trace of a smile as she read, but it faded as the story wore on. She glanced up every few pages or so to see if he was still paying attention, and he always was. He heard Caddeus and Gracie the foxhound, but he only listened to her words, her voice.

It took an hour and a half to finish the book. When Draco had been little, he and his mother had worked through it a chapter a night. It took less than two weeks then.

"'And so Caddeus stood atop the hill with Gracie one one side and Isador on his other, looking down on Moondew.'" Her voice was hoarse at this point, but she kept reading. There was only a paragraph left. "He knew that this forest held more magic than any wizard who could work a wand-and he knew that the song he had heard that night in the forest would stay in his ears until he closed his eyes for the last time.'" She closed the book and looked up. "That was a good book."

"My mum used to read it to me, when I was little."

"Is that why you needed it?" she asked quietly. She stood up and returned it to its shelf before heading to another shelf to continue browsing. He followed.

He didn't answer her question. Instead he said, "What do you see in Weasley?"

"He's nice."

"Not really," he objected. "He stood you up."

"It wasn't a date."

"Still."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Not really."

"That's bullshit," Draco replied. "He made you cry. He's a tosser. You could do better."

She shrugged, neither denying nor agreeing with him. For the first time he noticed that her eyes shone with tears, but she quickly blinked them away.

"You think I could do better, even though I'm just a Mudblood?" she asked. Her voice quavered slightly.

He looked her in the eyes. "Yeah," he murmured. And then he thought, _To hell with Father_ , before stooping at an angle to press his lips to hers. He felt her hands on his cheeks, on his neck, but in that moment all he was worried about was the way her mouth felt on his.

When they broke apart, she laughed nervously. "Can we do that again?"

So they did, against the bookshelf. One of her hands grazed his cheek while the other held the bookcase. They kissed again, with more fervor than Draco could remember in kissing anyone else. It felt like an eternity, and when it was over he wished it had been longer.

"I'll-I'll catch you later," she said quickly, her cheeks red before turning and striding swiftly out of the library.

The rest of the day Draco had trouble keeping a smile off his face.


End file.
